


Sarcasm

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [268]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, a bit angsty, a bit fluffy, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 16:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10469730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: sarcasm: noun: SAHR-kaz-um: a mode of satirical wit depending for its effect on bitter, caustic, and often ironic language that is usually directed against an individual.from Merriam-Webster:"If you've ever been hurt by a remark full of cutting sarcasm, you have some insight into the origins of the word. Sarcasm can be traced back to the Greek verb sarkazein, which initially meant "to tear flesh like a dog." Sarkazein eventually developed extended senses of "to bite one's lips in rage," "to gnash one's teeth," and "to sneer." The verb led to the Greek noun sarkasmos, ("a sneering or hurtful remark"), iterations of which passed through French and Late Latin before arriving in English as sarcasm in the 17th century. Even today sarcasm is often described as sharp, cutting, or wounding, reminiscent of the original meaning of the Greek verb."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrub456](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/gifts).



It had been a rough day from the get go, nearly ending in fisticuffs with Donovan over a crime scene that barely rated a 5. John shrugged at Lestrade's questioning glare before hauling the surprisingly compliant detective into a cab.

"The sarcasm was a bit much, you tend to be a bit on the brusque side, but that was a bit vitriolic...what's going on, love?"

Sherlock leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes.

"No. Nope. Talk to me."

Sherlock turned his head in surprise and tried to glare at John, but failed badly. "I'm 35 today." He smiled sadly at John's look of understanding, and turned away again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." John whispered back, then reached for Sherlock's hand, and breathed a sigh of relief as Sherlock's tight fist opened for him, and their fingers threaded together.

"Why would you? You never asked and I've never told you." Sherlock muttered. "I've yet to have a decent one, even the first was traumatic from all accounts."

"We still have... hmmm... three hours and 45 minutes to make it a decent one, Angelo's? Thai? There's that new cupcake place -"

Sherlock shook his head. "Can we just go home? I just want to turn off the phones and all the noise and the people and just be with you, can we do that?" 

John blinked at the change in Sherlock's voice, he had never heard him so unsure before. "Of course we can do that, I'm not much of a birthday present, but -"

Sherlock grabbed John's face suddenly in both of his large, gloved hands and kissed him as if his life depended on it, "You are so very, very necessary, John Watson. So necessary. Don't you know?" His hands dropped and he moved away to lean against the window.

They sat quietly for the last few moments of the cab ride to Baker Street, each lost in their own thoughts, each afraid to disturb the silence.

"Baker Street."

Sherlock threw a few pounds at the cabbie and dashed upstairs. John sighed and opened his door. The cabbie shut off the engine and mumbled, "Birthdays are hard things, mate, especially for that one, I've heard stories -" he trailed off, then suddenly turned and glanced at John. "Not my business, but if you want my advice? John nodded for some reason. "Just give him time, let him come to you. I've had, hmm...three wives, no - four, just, let him find you, yeah?" He nodded at John and started up the cab up again. John took his time going up the seventeen steps, counting as he went, wondering how it took him so long to realise just how many steps there were.

He walked into the flat and glanced at the huddled figure on the couch. Sherlock hadn't even taken off his shoes, and was wrapped tightly in his coat. John slipped off his shoes and coat and made for the bathroom. He turned on the taps and added a few capfuls of bubble bath, not the fancy bath oils, just a bright pink plastic bottle of Mr. Bubbles that Sherlock had actually bought for a case a few months ago. John had discovered that Sherlock had never had a bubble bath as a child, not that he could recall at any rate; John could still see the joy on Sherlock's face as he sunk into the tub a couple of weeks ago after a long case was finally over.

"Oh....this is..." Sherlock went silent as John had wrapped his arms around him, and they breathed deeply together.

"Yeah, it is." John remembered that they sat until the water ran cold, then drained the tub and ran another bath, before Sherlock was finished.

"Can I join you?" Sherlock had quietly undressed and was kneeling by the tub. "Please?"

"Of course, love." John offered him a bubbly hand and Sherlock slid into the space in front of him.

"I'm sorry." 

"What for?"

Sherlock interlaced their fingers, observing their differences, noting the scars that dotted John's hands, and he rumbled quietly. "I'm still not used to this."

"This?"

"Us, this. I'm used to being alone, in everything, especially on the hard days. Sometimes I just forget that I can tell you things and you will listen and be there, be here for me. I'll get better at it, I promise."

John placed tiny kisses along Sherlock's hairline, then whispered, "I'll be here as long as you want me, love. Forever if that's what you want."

"Forever is a long time, John," Sherlock sighed as his eyes closed.

"Yes, but, there is nowhere else I want to be except here, with you. Happy Birthday, Sherlock."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic]: Sarcasm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15697518) by [almosttomorocco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almosttomorocco/pseuds/almosttomorocco)




End file.
